


Table for One

by Apathy



Category: Dissidia: Final Fantasy
Genre: Community: let_it_loose_df, Dendrophilia, Furniture Sex, Humour, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 02:20:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3191651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apathy/pseuds/Apathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exdeath has some morning wood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Table for One

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Dissidia kinkmeme back in 2013, for the prompt:
> 
>   _Exdeath finds all of Garland's wooden furniture unspeakably erotic. Garland returns home to find he has nothing to tie WoL to anymore. It must all be burned._

_Leave my abode at once_ , Garland had said.

 _Do not taint my possessions with your presence_ , he had snarled, with a meaningful emphasis on _possessions_.

 _Touch my furniture and I will **destroy you**_ , Garland had bellowed directly into his face, one hand wrapped around his throat.

Exdeath _hurr_ ed as he ran a clawed finger delicately along the edge of the table, light enough to leave no mark. Garland acted like he owned the place -- _it's from my world_ , he had said quickly, _therefore it is mine_ \-- but nobody owned anything here. Nobody except the Void, which would rightfully reclaim all.

Anyway, the room only had two walls and part of a ceiling; the rest merged into a meadow, making it useless for any administrative duties that Garland may have had to perform. Everybody from both sides knew that he only kept the room as some sort of sordid sexual chamber for the Warrior of Light, anyway; Exdeath would have wagered everything he owned that Garland was off "capturing" him right now, had the Void not frowned upon the accumulation of wealth for its own sake.

The room, such as it was, contained a large, rough-hewn table made of heavy wood, with matching benches down each side, as well as a smoother, more polished desk in the corner and its counterpart chair, padded with a small cushion that was embroidered with an intricate floral pattern.

But the undoubted masterpiece of the room was the imposing chair against the wall, raised up on a small dais. Its back was a delight of intricate scrollwork, polished to a deep, sensuous glow. Exdeath knew that Garland liked to sit on it and pretend it was his throne, and make the Warrior of Light kneel before him.

Its time would come, oh yes. But first, Exdeath had to get warmed up.

He pulled off his gauntlets and discarded them on the floor, before running his hands over the table in slow, sensuous circles. 'I reclaim you for the Void.'

He gloried in the raw roughness of it, swept his fingertips lovingly with the grain for a moment before suddenly, violently, pulling them against it. 'Foolish tree, letting yourself be captured by meat creatures and turned into -- into _this_.' Such mixed emotions he felt -- the power and dominance that coursed through his bark mingled with an anger and impotence that _he_ had not been the one to best the tree, the one to fell it and bring it under his total control.

'You are mine, now.' Exdeath discarded his armour slowly and deliberately, letting each piece drop to the stone floor with a muted crash. _Let it wait. No table can rush me._

Fully naked, he crawled onto the table, claws rending the top of it in long, vicious strokes. He rubbed his face against the splintered surface. 'Yes. Not Garland's. Mine.'

Part of his mind protested that the table belonged to the Void, not to him; but then again, what was he, but the Void's agent?

The one thing that he could definitely say was that the table did _not_ belong to Garland. He raked his claws deeper, pulling, tearing, and thrust his body against it with a viciousness that tore at his bark. 'Stupid tree. You deserve nothing.'

The table didn't last long despite its sturdiness, splintering beneath him. _Pathetic._ He wasn't even producing any pollen yet, and it was already useless. He kicked it out of spite, and turned his attention to the benches. If the table had not been enough to satisfy him, then the benches certainly never would be; he snapped them over his knee and hurled their broken corpses out into the meadow. It was vaguely satisfying, but nowhere near enough.

The desk in the corner -- oh, yes. He pulled out the drawers and emptied them onto the floor, sending the paper fluttering in the breeze. 'Paper! You are beneath my contempt.'

The desk itself, though -- that was another story. He did not know the type of wood -- obviously the trees from this world were different to those he knew -- but that made it all the more exotic and exciting, and the varnish gave it a daring, sensual allure.

He tilted his head, ran a finger down its bevelled edge. 'You little whore, all dressed up like that. I'll put you in your place.'

He lay back on the desk, impressed that it took his weight for such a delicate little thing, and writhed about, drinking in its smooth, slightly tacky surface. His head lolled to the side, and out of the corner of his eye he spotted the cushion and its enchanting floral pattern.

He snatched it up and rubbed it over his body; fortune smiled upon him, wafting the smell of flowers in from the meadow, and he groaned. 'I'll pollinate you good and hard. Just you wait, you impatient slut.'

Sap was leaking from him now; the desk was sticky and scratched, and one of the legs creaked. He knew he should get off it before it collapsed entirely, but he couldn't help himself; holding the cushion to himself with one hand, he grabbed the desk's matching chair with the other, and shoved one of its legs deep into his favourite knothole.

Exdeath bellowed, working the chair with both hands for a moment before snapping off one of the legs to use in a different knothole. The chair was good, he gave it that; he only wished he'd been the one to bring it down in the first place and make it his entirely.

He could have quite easily finished off right there, but the throne tormented the edge of his vision. He had to do it now; the chance would probably never come again, once Garland got back.

He half rolled, half fell off the semi-collapsed desk, and staggered his way across the room, shifting the chair legs to more convenient positions as he went.

Oh… it was stunning, he had to admit it. He ran a reverent finger along the scrollwork, ensorcelled by its beauty. Even the off-white stains on the seat could not mar its magnificence.

'You are mine.'

He straddled the chair, his legs beneath its gorgeous arms, and wound his own arms around the back, wrapping his fingers into the scrollwork.

' _Mine_.'

That was enough; he shuddered violently, the throne creaked beneath him, and he felt the sweet release of pollen and sap.

' _Durr hurr hurr._ '

As if on cue, the sun broke out from behind the clouds and streamed upon his back, and Exdeath fell into a contented slumber.

*

'As I've told you a dozen times before: you should re-design. Go for something minimalist and modern. This is the perfect opportunity.'

Garland ignored Sephiroth's ramblings about using white and stark lines and "halogen lamps", whatever they were, and returned his focus to the problem at hand.

The Warrior was in the corner, trussed up and unconscious; unfortunate, given that Garland had really wanted him conscious this time, but his unceasing questions about what had happened to Garland's room and why Exdeath had chair legs sticking out of his back had simply become unbearable, and Garland had had to bludgeon him about the head a few times before his own headache had become entrenched.

Not that it had helped; Sephiroth had strolled up a few minutes later and started babbling about some great "interior designer" he knew, and Garland had just tried to block it out so he could mourn in peace.

The _tree_ was still peacefully passed out upon Garland's throne -- _oh, such memories of that throne!_ \-- and Garland did not wish to touch any part of him, for fear that he would never be clean again. The carnage of the entire room was topped off by a fine spray of what Garland thought was probably pollen; whether that was better or worse than the alternative, Garland didn't really care to contemplate.

It was settled –- he'd kill him, and then set the whole room on fire. And possibly the weapon he used to kill him, too. He wondered whether Sephiroth would notice if he "borrowed" Masamune.

The thought brought him back to reality, and he realised that Sephiroth had finally shut up. Garland's relief, however, was cut horrifyingly short when he realised the reason for Sephiroth's silence -- namely, that he was reading a piece of paper with great interest. A piece of paper that had once been in Garland's desk drawer.

He stormed over to Sephiroth, trying to ignore the stickiness of the floor, and snatched the paper out of his hand. 'That's private!' he yelled, voice striking an embarrassingly high register.

Sephiroth's hand fell gracefully to his side, as if he had intended it to happen all along. 'As you command, _King Garland_.' His voice held just the slightest undertone of amusement, which, Garland knew, meant that he found the whole situation screamingly hilarious. 'Do you make all your subjects kneel before you when they pledge their loyalty to you, or just -- '

' _Enough!_ ' Garland slammed him into the wall, but Sephiroth just smiled, and Garland knew he was defeated. He dropped Sephiroth with a snarl, and luckily Sephiroth decided to saunter off from whence he came rather than push the issue.

Garland wished, not for the first time, that he could rub his temples through his helmet; he could feel a migraine coming on, and it was going to take all of his healing potions just to make sure that the Warrior didn't die from the grievous head wound that Garland had given him.

'I give up,' he muttered, and he tacked his way across to the Warrior, hoisting his limp form across his shoulders. All he could think of was finding somewhere dark and comfortable, and closing his eyes forever. He was getting old.

Exdeath shifted slightly, making a rumbling noise. Garland contemplated him a moment, then lit a few small fires amongst the ruins, before hauling himself and his unconscious prize out of there. Exdeath would probably wake up before he burned down completely; either way, Garland didn't really care.

Garland stumbled up the hill, listening to the building roar of the flames, and cursing roundly as the contents of his desk blew across Chaos's domain.

He needed a nap and a nice lie down.


End file.
